


Adaptation; without pride

by Devils_Open



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Badly Referenced Anime, Drunken Conflict, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:41:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25011802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devils_Open/pseuds/Devils_Open
Summary: ‘It will get easier, David.’
Relationships: Otacon/Solid Snake
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	Adaptation; without pride

**Author's Note:**

> Baby’s first Otasune fic... let’s go. More of an analysis on Snake’s character that morphed into a story.

‘ _It will get easier, David._

_Scoff as much as you’d like, and I know you are, but we both know I’m right._

_Things have not been easy, and I suppose we haven’t been very forthcoming with one another, but you need to know that it is okay. That I believe in you. And I’m here for you._

_You said not to, but I’ve gone out… chalk it up to a clandestine meeting and poke me for it later. ~~Please just~~ Try to keep yourself busy, ~~don’t drink yourself stupid~~ stay out of the booze. We can talk about all of this when I get back. _

_~~From~~ ,_

_Love, Otacon.’_

The first place that Dave went upon finding Hal’s letter was the liquor cabinet. Their ramshackle anti-terror organization has a budget of next to nothing, so it isn’t as though they’re rolling in cash which they can just up and spend on quality booze. Considering such, it’s a good thing that Dave’s palate is less than refined, and his stomach bolder than most. 

He and Hal had hashed out some things, nothing new, but all unspoken as of late. His partner decided there were a few skeletons in his closet that needed to be let loose - he said it was for his sake - but with that came a wave of trademark anxiety which always surrounded sharing emotions, even worse - _trauma_. Dave thought that was all fine and well, but he’d cursed his genetics for making him predisposed to cold, angry outbursts. 

They both shared a few unsavory words, even after Dave had given in and confessed his sins - said whatever he thought might sate Hal’s desire to make him whole again, despite him knowing that to be impossible. Yet most of the fire which made their discussion burn as hot as it did was from Dave’s end, and his alone; he could admit that. 

Hal has always been of a meek sort. Which is something both of them can see, and doing so doesn’t denote his worth in either of their perspectives. But it does make things difficult when Dave takes _advantage_ of that. Drunk or not. He’d backed Hal into a corner with booze on his lips, freshly trashed, and screamed in his face. Not a fist was thrown, but enough was shared with such venom and at such great volume that he was sure it had felt like a beating. He did argue, and he was met with a concrete wall as sturdy as the one Hal projected, not wanting to fight back, god forbid _escalate_. He had asked Hal what he thought gave him the right to try and change him, if he wasn’t good enough as is, and where he got off believing with an ounce of sincerity that either of them - especially _Hal_ , as was duly noted - would live long enough for any of this to matter. He touched on the only weak point worth noting that comprises Hal’s entire being and made it a grand gesture of faith, or rather of his own _dying_ , and it did sting. He wasn’t on the receiving end of those chiding remarks and even he could tell, it did. 

At the end of the night, he passed out on the couch when Hal had locked himself in their bedroom, after fleeing to that end of the small safehouse cabin muttering something about a shower. Dave wasn’t too drunk to notice that he never once even tread close to the bathroom, that it was probably the only lie Hal had ever told him, and one meant to buy him time, _safety_ , of all things. And from _Dave_ , of all people.   
That space between them didn’t last long though. It took a grand total of one hour for Hal to come back out of their bedroom, to pour a glass of water from the old faucet, to nudge Dave awake from his place on the couch and make him drink as though he’d sober up on the spot. Dave wasn’t too drunk to be rendered inarticulate, but he wanted to wallow in being able to play that role, blubber in Hal’s ear like each mangled, drunken syllable would justify his own existence, and the burden that he is to his very core. The fear-mongerer he’d made himself to Hal, the one person he would rather die than hurt. 

In the end, Hal’s unwaveringly vulnerable disposition never faltered, and he never raised a finger nor tone at his partner. He helped Dave hobble back down the hall and into bed, but not before gently undressing him and making sure - to the best of his ability, anyway - that he was comforted. _Sated_ , despite how becoming so had meant expending all his energy in a bout of rage towards Hal. They were both tired. They both needed some means to an end. And Hal took Dave clinging to him in a fit of tears spewing incoherent apologies and expletives alike as a peace offering, and made no further discussion of what had happened. 

The last thing that Dave can clearly remember is Hal pulling him off the couch, but somewhere inside his mind is an echo of Hal’s voice, assuring him that it’s okay, that he’s allowed to scream, to fight and kick. That they both deserve to feel anguish stemming from their past. 

He’s touching the nape of his neck and internally swearing that it’s still hot from Hal’s lips, that his partner's words are seeping through those porous cracks with admissions of love, some guilt too, and a profound sadness, but not any feeling of discontentment, or ill-wishes. 

After everything he said, he wishes the latter were the case. Hal’s unyielding support has always made him uneasy. 

The clock tells him that it’s half past noon. His head is pounding, and there’s sweat beading along his brow. His tongue tastes like the bitter moonshine he’d found lying around some cruddy shed out back, but something more sticks to the surface of his teeth. The salty flavor of a pill tells him that Hal gave him _something_ , and recently. He doesn’t mind much as to what it was, he just hopes it will take away the pulsating waves of pain behind his face. 

The letter was taped to the fridge, and now it’s on the counter, and Dave will likely take it to the couch just as easily. He wants to hold it, feel it, what it partially symbolizes. Bask in how it doesn’t necessarily mean things are over for them. 

He would pace around if he had the energy to do so, let anxiety get the better of him, but right now his body - specifically his head - is screaming. Yet booze is singing it’s siren call the same way it had all those years he’d spent alone before Philanthropy wasn’t so much as a sparkle in their mutual gaze, when he was utterly alone and free to drink himself into a stupor without fearing he may hurt someone he loves. When he had no one to hurt, nor fear the trial and error of loving. 

Letter in hand, booze on his tongue out of habit making him feel close to retching, he sighs labored breaths as he falls on the couch. He can’t stop the flow of sweat down from his hairline, but he also isn’t helping it by taking shallow sips from a beer bottle mainly consisting of backwash. 

Hal’s laptop is sitting on the wooden coffee table a few feet away from the couch, and its screen is still bright, somehow. Lid ajar, Dave can see some lengthy articles about many things, with ads in between. He wills himself to tap the arrow key and finds a title for the subject matter, as if he hadn’t known what it was already. 

What began their argument was a comment on Hal’s end Intended with care, received as an attack, which revolved around Dave’s mental health. Hal pulled up a few links regarding mental disorders and shoved each in Dave’s face with a soft tone that screamed _helpless, misguided, well-meant but ignorant._ Dave couldn’t stop the train of thought that beckoned more anger, and even more prying from Hal when he expressed said anger. It infuriated him to think that someone could wield such profound intellect and aim it so carelessly. To waste it on someone as beyond helping as he is. That he’d rather spend his precious time trying to figure out the specificities of night terrors and ptsd, mulling over details spread about war vet novels, health manuals, and all for someone like Dave. He’s a soldier, a weapon to be aimed and fired, and he’s a pawn. He knows these things to be true just the same as he knows Hal to be physically incompetent, and yet astonishingly intelligent, awe-inspiringly so. Enough to make him feel dim-witted just watching how he spits code like it’s nothing. 

He broke composure when Hal went so far as to say - and with such sickeningly genuine care in his voice - that he needed help. He talked not of medicines or facilities, but introspection. Open-mindedness and laughable concepts like meditation, mind-healing practices. He uttered the words _love_ and _communication_ in the same sentence and Dave lost it. 

They’ve been growing close, enough to put a label on what they have together, but Dave had been dreading doing so because he knows what that leads to. The disappointment that it inevitably entails. 

Something in him regressed back to the same mentality he’d been nursing all those years ago before Shadow Moses. He didn’t want to be touched, he didn’t need coddling, and he certainly had no intention to make any excuses for it. Because he was meant to be an object. A tool for someone else to brandish when it was necessary. Hal made what they have into something beyond what it _needed_ to be. He told Dave that he was beyond those years of living in anguish and terror hidden behind cold, calculated composure, and everything else Big Boss had bestowed upon him. He said that he was allowed to feel, that their relationship was more than strictly business, and that that was _okay_. That he could _heal_. He put a name and deeper meaning to what they have besides that which fell under Philanthropy’s job description, and Dave wasn’t ready. Certainly not for such a thing to come with blatant honesty and demands for growth. 

Something tells him that Hal knew exactly how he’d recoil the way he had. He’s no meager man to be rendered the sum of his physical strength; rather an analytical machine, sometimes to a fault. Dave wouldn’t put down the idea of Hal understanding his outburst more than even he could for a second. 

He closes the laptop and falls back against the couch, grimacing when Indirect sunlight is enough to make him want to claw his eyes out. He’s up and stumbling towards every wall with a window and shoving the curtains as close to one another as they’ll go, when he hears the lock on the safehouse’s front door click.

If he suspected it to be anyone else, whether he was half-drunk or not, they would already be dead. 

“Hey, you’re up.” Hal closes the door behind him, and his hands quickly slide across every jerry-rigged lock that Dave installed when they moved in, securing each one. “Did you sleep well? You knocked out pretty hard last night,” he says, pulling off his lab-white hoodie. 

Dave shoves Hal’s letter down into the pocket of his sweatpants. He drags himself back over to the couch, grunting. 

“Where were you?” 

“Out,” Hal says flippantly. “I mean, I had a few errands to run.” 

Dave notices now that he’s carrying a cardboard box under one arm. He places it on their very small dining table sitting beneath the kitchen window and opens it up, removing its contents. He’s soon grinning to himself as he speaks. 

“You know that radio you found? In the shed, next to the… well, you _know_.” He holds up a black box donning a few nodes and dials, resembling any old car radio that Dave’s ever seen, if a bit thicker. “I fixed it up.” 

“It was a loose connection. An antenna. Plus, one of the frequency dials was broken at the hinge. I just needed a few parts and town is only an hour or so away on foot, so I—“ 

“You walked?” Dave asks, incredulous. “You could’ve taken the car, it’s almost freezing temperature out there.” 

Hal’s eyes go from the radio in his hands to the fridge, briefly. The spot where his letter sat. He speaks lowly, “I’m more resilient than I look, I promise…” 

He toys with dials and presses a few buttons, showing care in how his hands move, whereas Dave would have already broken the finicky box. He doesn’t care for unresponsive tech, not when the heat of battle demands speedy precision. Hal only breaks concentration at Dave’s words when he pauses, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Habitual. 

“Gas is expensive in small towns and we’re burning too much as it is with the generator. I see vehicular transportation as a commodity at this point anyway,” he laughs, once again toying with his frames. “But you will be happy to know that I picked up some more meds,” he pulls a yellow bottle from his pocket and tosses it to Dave, who catches it with one hand. “They should help with your hangover.” 

Dave turns the bottle in his hand, eyeing its label, and rattles the contents inside. He raises his brow at Hal, “Baby aspirin?” 

“Hush. It’s chewable.” 

“And cherry-flavored,” Dave notes dryly. 

He pops a couple in his mouth and doesn’t bother to savor the uncommonly flavorful taste. If Hal thought anything of him chasing the dosage with a swig of backwashed beer, he didn’t vocalize it. He’d call it courage, but it’s really a dampener. As knee-jerk of a habit as Hal’s fingers on his own glasses. 

Dave sits back against the couch with a sigh, which turns into more of a groan. He massages his temples, and grumbles at Hal, “I thought you said this was a ‘clandestine meeting.’ I didn’t know aspirin retrieval constituted espionage.” 

Hal blinks at him through those thick lenses before continuing to rifle with tech parts. “Oh, I contacted Mei Ling with a payphone in town. I didn’t know there were any of those even _left_ …” 

“Payphone calls can still be traced, right? They are on the telephonic network, even if they’re hard lines in public locations.” 

“Sure, that’s why I wasn’t contacting Mei Ling _directly_.” He shoots a sly grin over his shoulder at Dave, “I’m smarter than that. Which is why I was speaking to one of her informants who happens to be in the area. If anyone listened in, it would sound like a call between old friends. Nothing too suspicious was discussed, I can assure you.” 

He gives the radio’s thin display screen a few taps with his index finger, biting his lip in concentration. When it appears as though everything is in working condition, he drags the cord over to one of the only outlets in the entire cabin and plugs it in. The socket makes a static noise, and the radio soon follows suit. The bulky box hums, coming to life. 

“These old radios don’t see much use. They’re not exactly antique, but you won’t find one like this in any pawn shop these days.” 

“Doesn’t sound like you’ll be contacting many people with it, so why the quick repair?” 

“Oh, I don’t intend to use it like _that_ ,” Hal laughs. “Local radio is about as boring as podcasting but it beats silence, right?” He smiles at Dave, who turns away before he has to reciprocate. Hal’s own falls away just as quickly as it arose. “I uh, know it’s not fun roughing it, especially without a working tv,” he makes a flimsy gesture to his laptop with a tilt of his head, kneading the flesh of one of his palms with his thumb anxiously, “and I’m sure you’re getting bored of my anime… I thought this could be a project of sorts, something to get your head back into civilization. It’ll take some time to patch into the right frequencies… and I doubt the local police have much chatter going on, but it’s, well, it’s _something_.” 

“Isn’t it?” He adds, still worrying the soft palm of his hand with one jabbing finger. 

Dave finally looks back at him. The bags under his eyes are much darker than usual, he notes. His demeanor is low and somber. “What are you doing, Hal?” 

“Fixing a radio,” he says, but his eyes don’t quite meet Dave’s. “For you.” 

“No. I mean what are you _doing_?” 

Hal’s frown deepens, and he looks to the floor. Dave’s eyes don’t follow, however. He stares up at his partner, wondering what events led their partnership to this; dancing around petty arguments focusing on trivial things with the same air of marital issues, things like a lack of communication, or mutual growth. 

They both know that last night was an occurrence past the point of revoking, and Dave knows what this repair job of Hal’s really is. 

One of the things that Hal said which drove Dave up the wall was some excerpt from one of the articles he’d read. That moving on meant changing habits. That healing was something which required mending the holes in one’s psyche through behavioral therapy, i.e. drastically changing surroundings and routines, for lack of better phrasing. Developing past the need for even the most meager coping mechanisms meant finding distractions. Hobbies.   
He made it out as though Dave’s daily cycles are what makes him so cagey, borderline neurotic, at least internally. When he insisted that he was only hurting himself by staying stuck inside of his own head, keeping to himself and letting few people in, Dave began downing his drinks just a little faster. Maybe Hal couldn’t see it in the moment, and maybe he still thinks his verdict was the right one, but Dave can’t so much as envision changing himself like that. It isn’t in his genes. His internal wiring was _destined_ to be hidebound, stuck to exercising caution, performing routines no matter how dull and redundant. 

He’s a test tube freak, and his existence wasn’t meant to cater to anyone else’s demand for reform. His innate purpose is to serve his father’s legacy, in one sense or the other. Liquid had some notion in his erratic mind to deviate from that somehow but not even he could escape the violence that was woven in his soul, that which he was destined to become simply because he is _Big Boss’ son_. 

It hurts Dave more to imagine that Hal _doesn’t_ look at him and see a killing machine, because he’s spent many years thinking himself as such. Hal is too bright to spend his intellect on someone so far beyond help; he wants to look into those blue eyes and see his own anger reflected back at him. Acknowledging that the good doctor’s prying stems from care almost terrifies him more than it would were he simply hateful towards Dave, loathing of his character. Hate is a simple thing, but love cannot be defined in his eyes. 

Dave isn’t sure where to begin in terms of voicing his concerns, because he isn’t sure who’s justified in this situation. His tiredness has reached existential levels, and he’s exhausted all his options. 

He grips the bridge of his nose and screws his eyes shut tight, dread written across his features. His voice is gravelly, low and tired. “This isn’t your job, I told you—“ 

“You thrashed in your sleep last night,” Hal interrupts. He crosses his arms matter-of-factly, but it appears more as though he’s hugging himself. “Did you know that? No. No, of course you didn’t, but I do, Dave. I always know. It’s always me who has to watch it happen.” 

Dave stares up at him, quietly. He’s listening, and perhaps not changing his outlook, but well beyond wanting to argue. 

“I can’t just…” he gestures vaguely, “watch you come out of a dead, _hungover_ sleep to scream and kick at nothing and keep pretending that it doesn’t mean anything.” 

“It doesn’t have to mean anything. I’ve been this way for years, I’ve managed.” This is exactly what Dave was afraid of - being a burden. “Don’t waste your time trying to fix what‘s beyond repair. Be like everyone else, leave well enough alone. It’s easier.” 

Hal narrows his eyes, tilting his head. His tone exudes pain, like this hurts him more than it ever could his partner. “Is _that_ what you think?” 

“That you should focus on more important things—“

“No,” Hal shakes his head, stepping closer to Dave, “that you’re broken? In need of… _repairing_? Oh, Dave, this isn’t… you’re not some pet-project. I’m not doing this to— to _fix_ you. I’m sorry if I made it out that way.” 

Dave’s never been someone to pity himself, or allow himself to get to a point at which others would do it for him. He can tell this isn’t a farce, that Hal is being genuine, because he no longer worries the patterns of his palm, or pushes his glasses against his face as though they’re perpetually on the verge of sliding off. He’s approaching Dave, and his body language is awfully assured, if visibly upset.   
Dave turns away briefly, not being able to stand that worried look in Hal’s eye. He doesn’t understand why he can’t just let him go, let him wallow in his own self-depreciating. Wither. 

“I can’t believe you’d—“ Hal shakes his head, “It doesn’t matter, I know you think this is something borne of pity, but.. christ, I can’t even convince you that it _isn’t_. Can I?”

When Dave doesn’t answer, or so much as look at Hal, he comes closer. His fingers brush the exposed flesh of Dave’s bicep. Dave struggles not to pull away, his skin for some reason feeling like a pin cushion. 

“Dave. Just listen.” Hal sits down next to his partner. Their knees touch and it feels like electricity to Dave, even through his sweatpants. Hal’s voice is merely a whisper, low enough, unsure enough, that Dave hardly hears him. “You don’t have to live this way. You can let me _in_. I won’t turn out like Meryl, or Mei Ling. I won’t fade into insignificance or die, and I certainly won’t leave you when I see your ‘bad side’, if that’s what you think.” 

Hal laughs, half-heartedly. “This infamous ‘bad side’ of yours is just you, I think. But I like it anyway.” His lips dare to curve into a soft smile. 

Dave snorts, but his frown doesn’t falter. His eyes linger on the floor, lids low, unsure and feeling half as broken as he looks. “You could find someone easier,” 

“Hey now, don't say that.” 

“I’m serious. You’re too competent for someone like me. I drag you down. I’m a grunt of the modern age and you’re some real-life genius far too intelligent for your own good. You’re…” he struggles to find the right words, shaking his head, “damn it, you’re so _smart_ , Hal. What business do I have with someone like you, and why would you ever try to f— to _help_ someone like me.” 

Hal’s cheeks flush at the praise, but Dave doesn’t linger on them. His queries seem based when phrased like that, almost, but Hal doesn’t see any of it that way. Not for a second. 

“None of what we do is meant to be easy. You know that as well as I do. We…” he gestures between the two of them, “are doing what we have been because it’s the right thing. I’m here for you, because I wouldn’t have signed up for this if I didn’t know for a fact that I wanted us to be closer long-term, to do what we do together, because we’re an excellent team. Because the both of us can make a change, but not separately.” 

“I’m not attempting to _fix_ you, Dave. You…” his voice cracks, wavering for a moment, “you know how hard it was for me to accept parts of my past, my childhood, much less vocalize them. But I did, and… and to you. I wouldn’t have if it were anyone else. I just… I want it to be the same for you, I want what we have to be as healing on your end as it has been for me. You just won’t let me in.” 

Dave frowns, shrugging one shoulder. “I’m not sure what you want from me that I can give you.” 

“When I’m with you, I find myself wanting less, actually. I’m… content, Dave. We could make something really big out of what we’re doing here, and that _excites_ me.” Hal’s smile is one that Dave almost dares to match, because it is so soft and genuine, the same gentleness that Hal always brings to the table. A sweetness polar opposite to Dave, which is what scares him the most. “I’m not asking that you give me anything, not really. But I want you to know that I’m here for— for all of _this_.” He gestures broadly to Dave. “Plus what’s up there,” he says, pointing to Dave’s head. 

Dave let’s his gaze linger on Hal just a moment longer, before dropping it back to his lap. He’s always had a harder time than most when it comes to voicing his own feelings, those revolving around trivial things like love and adoration being of no exception. This is something different, though. There’s a love he’s come to understand how to articulate, and then there’s his feelings of incompetence in the face of such. How does he look his business partner - his romantic partner - in the eyes, and explain that he simply doesn’t believe himself to be worth their time, or good enough to warrant their love. 

He’s loved for a long time now, before he even quite understood that’s what he was doing. What scares him now is the idea of admitting that he doesn’t think himself worthy of it anymore, because he knows himself, and he’s aware of how people in his life end up. He’s seen this happen a dozen times, and with Hal, it will likely be a dozen and one. 

“I’m not asking much. You know I wouldn’t demand anything of you, and you’re allowed to tell me off,” he says, rather solemnly. “But you can’t keep doing things like drinking yourself to an early grave when you’ve got something on your mind, or, for christ’s sake, _leaving_ when we talk about anything regarding your past, or even remotely personal.” 

Dave’s eye twitches hearing those words. He knows Hal is right. Those tendencies were embedded in him by the big man himself, and he’s aware that his father’s old habits die hard. 

He manages a chuckle drained of its humor. Behind it, he does care, and it’s an honest observation. “You worry too much.” 

Hal’s shoulders drop by at least an inch hearing Dave crack some semblance of a joke, and he returns it, full send. “Would you let me worry about you, though? Just this once. If you won’t do it for yourself.” 

Dave opens his mouth briefly before closing it, as if to say a million things but unsure which would best suit the occasion, which would do justice to his partner’s concern. Reciprocity in times like this is foreign to him, so he lets his words fail him for a moment. His walls are crumbling and he knows it, and he wants Hal to watch it happen because that’s what he’s been looking for this whole time. 

He closes his eyes for a moment, sighing. “This has been dragging you down, like I said—“ Hal’s immediate look of disappointment at hearing those words causes Dave to hold up his palm, silencing him as he continues. “I already told you that I’m not sure what I can give you, and I wasn’t lying. This is all I am. But letting you down doesn’t sound like an attractive prospect, so I… will try.” He shrugs, still frowning, but manages to look Hal in the eye. His tone is low and serious. “You don’t have to do this.” 

Hal chuckles, placing his hand on Dave’s knee. “I know I don’t, silly. I _want_ to. Philanthropy won’t amount to much if one of us is dead from alcohol poisoning, or— I don’t know, too busy jumping at shadows. I can’t let that happen.” 

“Then I guess I can’t stop you.” Dave admits. “I get the ally-preservation thing. _United we stand_ , and all.” 

Hal rolls his eyes. “Of course you’d equate what we have to some war analogy.” 

“It’s all I can think of watching you slouch over your laptop all day and night, wasting away. You’re not one to talk when it comes to self-destructive tendencies, Hal.” At Hal’s dismissive wave, Dave says, “I’m serious. Stop to shower once in a while. Or _eat_. Maybe stretch, _anything_.” 

“Fine. But I’ll have you know that what I do is imperative to our organization. Sometimes I simply can’t afford to take a break.”

“Really?” Dave quirks a brow, smirking. “Is _Akira_ another one of those things that falls under human-intelligence operations? Must’ve slipped past me.” 

“First of all, I keep my anime tab open because listening to a few episodes while I work is rather cathartic,” Hal says, his posture preening. “Secondly…” a sheepish smile creeps across his face, “you actually remembered the name of _Akira_.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Wha—“ Hal sputters, moving closer to Dave and clinging to his arm. “ _Yeah_?” he parrots. “Come on, tell me what you think of it!” 

Dave gestures his hand in a so-so motion. “As far as analysis on conflicting generational values and societal cohesion goes, I’ve seen worse.” 

“Oh, come _on_. You’ve got to tell me more than that,” Hal says with a frown. “I didn’t know you’d even been paying attention when I had it on!” 

“Sometimes I watch over your shoulder while you’re working.” 

“Really?” Hal scratches the back of his neck before pushing his glasses up nervously. “I guess I do tend to get a little absorbed into my work. It doesn’t surprise me that I wouldn’t notice you creeping up on me. In any case, you should tell me more of what you think about it. I wonder what other animes you’ve secretly been paying attention to…” 

Dave nods. “Sure.” 

Hal’s eyes light up. He can’t help his bubbling curiosity. “Really? We should watch some right now! I could put on _Akira_ , or a different one if you want? I was planning on taking a break for today anyway, but I don’t rest often and I know you don’t either. Maybe some decent coffee would brighten the mood, or if we moved to the bed—“ 

”I meant _later_ , Hal,” Dave interjects, cutting him off, though not harshly. His expression softens just a touch watching his partner enthuse about things that Dave by all means has no clue about. At least he’s forgetting the previous subject. And neither of them are very good conversationalists, so he’ll take what he can get as far as topic matter goes. “I’m still hungover, y’know,” he finally adds. 

“Right— yeah,” Hal manages. He can’t help but to laugh at himself and how indulgent he can sometimes be. He fidgets with his frames. “You should get some rest. I think I’ve got some loose ibuprofen in my travel bag, if you’d like.” 

Dave lazily shakes his head and lets his posture slouch, looking more like Hal’s. He kicks his feet up to rest on the coffee table, massaging his temples. “I’ll take you up on this when I’ve had a few more hours.” He can’t remember the last time he’d felt content enough to sleep for whole hours in one sitting, assuming it wasn’t alcohol-induced. He sure feels intent on trying right now, though. “And some of that coffee, too”

Hal nods, giving Dave’s knee a gentle squeeze before standing up. He grabs his laptop off the table and takes it with him on the ascent. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” 

“Hal.” 

Hal quickly turns on his heel when he hears Dave’s voice. “Yeah?” He peers down at his partner expectantly, hugging his laptop to his chest. 

“Thank you.” 

Hal’s expression is instantly a wide grin. Dave almost misses it with how fast he closes his eyes and lies back. The small smile pulling at his lips tells Hal he surely saw a glimpse of it though, at bare minimum. 

He can’t face it in the moment any more than he can make it into a meaningful memory in retrospect, but admissions of things like guilt, sadness - they’re all somewhat of necessities. He’s witnessed men kill over - whether their hearts were beating or not - over simple emotions and mental well-being. He’s never helped himself on that front because doing so felt beside the point, apart from the mission.   
Hal has served to be a lesson for him, that one’s greatest sin is not developing feelings for a comrade, but insisting that those wants and desires beyond the battlefield simply don’t exist. He isn’t as introspective as he knows his partner would prefer, but he’s gotten this far. Perhaps Hal could teach him of more than just scraping by and instead of living. Regardless of how many years he has left on this abusive planet. He’ll make an attempt. For his partner, not the world. 

As he lies back and lets down his physical guard, his walls are crumbling, and he hopes Hal is a willing witness to it happening. He’ll be the sole bearer of that sight and every burden that comes with it. For better or worse. 

“You’re welcome, Dave.” 


End file.
